For the last hour of the ING New York City Marathon, Ramaala, the defending champion, had been locked in one of the toughest, longest street fights in road racing memory. In the end — the closest finish in the history of the race — he had thrown himself at the tape and ended up on the ground.

Four months later, sitting in his apartment in Johannesburg, his eyes focus on infinity and lose some of their usual amused sparkle as he sees the race unfold again.

"Early, there was a big pack, everyone was looking good," he recalls.

"The Italian tried to run away on the 59th Street Bridge — going too fast, running strange. We caught him and passed him. When we hit the downhill off the bridge, we were sprinting."

In previous years, Ramaala recalls, he had lost New York on First Avenue — not keeping in touch with the leaders when they started surging. In 2004, he had covered their surge and gone on to win.

"In 2005," Ramaala continues, "I gave hard surges up First Avenue and dropped all but Tergat, Meb and Cheruiyot."

As they raced through the Bronx and back into Manhattan, Cheruiyot fell away and the effort became epic. NYCM race director Mary Wittenberg says that it was the "longest I have ever seen anyone run that hard. For most of the race Hendrick was running all out. They just beat the hell out of each other."

Ramaala recalls the effort well: "I wasn’t going to run like that if I didn’t believe I was going to win," he says. "I was tired, but thinking, ‘I have to win.’"

With two miles to go, he remembers, "Looking back, I saw Tergat, Meb. The way I planned it, I wasn’t supposed to be in company . . . But I wasn’t going to surrender. One of us was going to win. I was betting on me."

Into the last mile, along Central Park South and back into the park, it was down to Tergat and Ramaala. "At the finish . . . there was so much noise," Ramaala recalls, and you sense that he cannot remember the details without hearing the deafening roar without and within.

"We were sprinting, like . . . 100 meters. You don’t want a marathon to come down to a sprint. Tergat has a great sprint. I’ve raced him many times before. That is how he wins races.

"He was trapped. He was not pulling away. He was going with me.

"I believed I was going to win. I leaned for the tape to win. He has a longer stride . . ."

On the ground, Ramaala quickly made peace with his loss. "OK. He is one of the world’s best marathoners. He beat me. OK."

He got up and shook Tergat’s hand. "Congratulations, Paul."

"But next time," Ramaala says, four months of reflection and training later, "it is going to be different. Next time it will not be so close."

The next time was in London last April. Leading up to the race, Ramaala was confident, despite admitting that the assembled field was intimidating: Haile Gebrselassie, Tergat, Khalid Khannouchi, Evans Rutto, Martin Lel, Rodgers Rop, Stefano Baldini, Jaouad Gharib.

"I’m at peace with myself," Ramaala said two months before the race. "I respect them all. I can’t do anything about them. They have more talent, more speed — they’ve shown that on the track. I must prepare harder.

"I’m preparing for London like you wouldn’t believe. At the finish, I must be satisfied, if fifth, if champion.

A month before the race, after many of his competitors had run a stellar half marathon in Lisbon, Ramaala emailed, "Hey, the Kenyan boys were really moving in Lisbon! . . . The guys are in good shape for London.

"I am not worried as I am training well. London is going to be really hard but I have to go there and fight like a man."

Fight like a man he did, running to a close third behind Felix Limo and Lel in what many described as one of the greatest marathon fields ever assembled, although Tergat was not there, having pulled out before the race due to injury. More importantly, Ramaala lowered his personal best to an amazing 2:06:55, knocking a minute and a half off his previous PR and placing him squarely on the short list of the world’s best marathoners.

A little more than a decade ago, Ramaala couldn’t run a 5K at his current marathon pace. In 1991, he had gained entry to the prestigious University of the Witswatersrand in Johannesburg (WITS) on an academic scholarship. He made studying his priority. Having come up through the black side of the two-tiered education system in apartheid-era South Africa, he says that he was "busy, trying to get caught up. If you came from the other side, you didn’t fit in well. So, the first year I spent studying, doing book work."

It is not a surprise to anyone who has met Ramaala that he had fully caught up by the second year and found he had some free time. He tried soccer, which he had played growing up, but didn’t make the varsity team, so he joined the track club. At the time, he was, in his own term, a "jogger."

Running fit into his busy study schedule, he says, unlike team sports when you had to make it to practices and wait for others. "I could give it 40 minutes here, an hour there," he says, "on my own time, my own pace." And then, he says, "I got hooked. Once you start running, you stick to it, whether you are good or bad. If you fall into it, you’re going to get hooked."

He ran in several local meets, finishing in the middle of the pack — he didn’t even pay attention to his time. But he progressed enough to represent WITS in the South African University Championships in Cape Town in December 1992 — "the first non-racial championships in years; before, there had been white university champs and black university champs," he reports. In the first timed race that Ramaala remembers he ran 5,000m in 15:04. The winner ran 13:44. "I was lapped, big time," he admits. "I realized that I was way off pace. I couldn’t see the leaders. I was at the back and I didn’t want to be at the back — I’m competitive by nature."

By 1995, the then 23-year-old Ramaala had finished his first degree, and while he still had two years to go for his law degree, "the pressure was off," he recalls. "I knew I was going to finish school. I could train."

In February he made the South African World Cross Country team, and traveled to England in March for the championships. He placed 35th there, the first South African. As it turns out, that was the best he would ever place in World Cross Championship in four attempts. "I could not get it right," he says, and he doesn’t run cross country anymore, although the sport left a mark on him in the form of long scar on his shin that he acquired from a competitor’s spikes at Belfast in 1999.

The next international trip — in June of 1995 to Helsinki where he ran 13:24 for the 5,000m, placing third at the World Games — is when he says, "everything changed. My motivation. My understanding. My self-image." In August of that year he ran 27:55 in the 10,000m and made the final at the IAAF World Championships in Gothenburg, Sweden.

That year, he met British athletics agent John Bicourt, himself a former Olympian. Bicourt recalls that Gwen Griffith, South Africa’s women’s track and field captain at the 1996 Olympics, told him that he should take a look at Ramaala. Bicourt remembers, "From the first time, what struck you was, ‘What a nice guy.’" Bicourt says that at the time Ramaala didn’t know a lot about running, but he was eager and quick to learn, well-balanced, articulate and incredibly laid-back. Even now, more than a decade later, what impresses Bicourt most is Ramaala’s incredible joie-de-vivre. "When he finishes a race, "Bicourt says, "he has this look on his face that says, ‘This is great for you and me and everybody’ — he gives the impression, ‘Isn’t it great to be alive?’"

Bicourt advised Ramaala, got him into international road races, and within two years he had won events as big as the BUPA Great North Run and placed fourth in the IAAF World Half Marathon Championships. In 1999 he placed second in the World Half, then DNF’d in his marathon debut in Chicago. "I rushed it," Ramaala says. The cold that year didn’t help either, as Ramaala is infamous regarding his dislike of running in the cold.

In the ensuing years, he placed in the top 10 in major marathons from London to Mumbai, and finally broke through with a victory in New York in 2004. "Winning New York confirmed a lot of things for me," Ramaala says. "I always believed I could win a major marathon. Winning confirmed my belief. I still believe."

How do you go from being lapped in a local meet to the finals of a world championship, with the confidence to believe you can beat Paul Tergat in the marathon? Ramaala credits consistent training. From 1992-1994 he trained one hour per day, with speed work twice a week. While academics were still his priority, he also began reading books and magazines and talking to other runners — like 1991 New York champion Willie Mtolo and South African marathon record-holder Gert Thys, who came to the WITS track to train — to learn "what this running is about," he says.

After a year of injury in 1996, including two stress fractures in his knee and shin, he began what he calls "big time training" in 1997. He had finished his degree and won enough money on a two-month tour of Japan, Europe and Brazil to live comfortably, if simply, for a while. "I decided to take a break," he says, choosing "not to look for a job, to have nothing to think about but running." He had no car, no phone, but says he "lived well." Since then, he has trained twice a day, up to 120 miles per week.

Others credit his attitude and intelligence for his success. Isaac Masilela, a 2:21 marathoner who has trained with Ramaala since 1997, says, "Running takes discipline, dedication and a strong mind. Hendrick is a hard worker, and a die-hard." Another training partner, Craig Cynkin, says of Ramaala, "He works very hard and he is really, really intelligent." Quinton Foster, a top masters runner, also part of the training group, calls Ramaala "a remarkable human being," adding, "He truly has top-notch intelligence and he brings passion to every workout."

There is no doubt that he has natural talent as well, and benefits from the same environmental conditions as other African champions: He was raised in rural North Sotho, about four hours’ drive north of Johannesburg at an altitude of over 4,000 feet, and, while he didn’t run to school, he did play outdoors barefoot all day, like rural children the world around. He still eats a diet primarily of the traditional cornmeal "pap" with lots of fresh vegetables and fruits. But Ramaala downplays his upbringing — concentrating on his life since moving to urban, first-world Johannesburg. "My running has all been here," he says.

Indeed, his current life seems to resemble that of a competitive club runner in Europe or the U.S. more than an elite professional in a training camp. He has no coach, trainer or physical therapist. He trains himself, doing all his running either on a rolling loop around grassy Zoo Lake Park, a short drive from his home, or on the track at WITS.

His training partners are an informal group that has gathered over the years. Masilela remembers when they met at WITS and would run to the park, as, he says, "no one was having a car then." Now Ramaala arrives with several others in his 1992 Nissan 4X4. All are competitive, some with professional aspirations, but none besides Ramaala are elite runners.

At the park, Ramaala disappears into the group. The rest are here because of Ramaala and do his planned workouts — as much as they are able — but when they meet, he is just one of the guys. He doesn’t make any announcements or officially start the workout. The atmosphere is relaxed and intimate: a typical club run. Before the run they talk about running and life, share injury and training advice, and banter about who is feeling fast. Ramaala joins in, showing some of the comedian, social side that he is famous for at international races and which he admits may be somewhat to combat nervousness, "to cool myself down." After the run, everyone congratulates everyone else with a unique handshake that involves crossing thumbs, and they linger for half an hour or more, stretching, talking and laughing.

The group is very important to Ramaala. He used to spend six months of the year in a Paris suburb and six months in South Africa with several trips to the high-altitude training center at Font Romeu in the Pyrennes along with other elites like Paula Radcliffe. But he’s been home in South Africa now for more than two years. "I"m better off here," he says. "I’m more at home; I have better training partners. The marathon needs a good base, you need to be relaxed. It is working very well."

He doesn’t go to a gym: He only uses light weights at home for his arms and chest at the beginning of a training cycle. Nor does he cross-train, preferring to use the time to sleep. "Seriously," he says, " after doing all those runs, I’m so tired."

While he doesn’t have a job except for running, his days are busy. Last spring, his wife, Rodica Moroianu, whom he met at the 1999 Sao Silvestre Road Race in Brazil, was in Europe, caring for her ailing mother, and Ramaala had primary care for their 6-year-old son Alex, juggling his schedule around Alex’s school and bringing him to workouts at the park and track. He has assistance from several of his seven siblings, five of whom live in Johannesburg now. One brother is also a lawyer, and Ramaala is helping several with their schooling.

Looking forward, Ramaala says that his focus is "all to Beijing." He is planning on making the 2008 Olympic Marathon his final race. "I will be at my peak — 36. I don’t know how long I will be able to compete," he says. "I won’t have another chance — I have to get it right."

His failure at other championships smarts. He was very young in Atlanta and considers it a learning experience. In Sydney, he placed a respectable 12th in the marathon. But he had to drop out of both the 2004 Athens marathon and the 2005 Helsinki World Championships marathon — both of which he, and many countrymen, felt he should have won or medaled at.

Of Athens, Ramaala says, "I had the best training of my life."

In the race, he recalls, "I was leading, then, on a downhill, I pulled my hamstring. Maybe it was the heat, maybe the downhills . . . I don’t know." Bicourt blames poor shoe choice, as Ramaala wore too-soft racers designed for the 10K which slightly altered his footstrike. Norrie Williamson, a coach active in South African athletics administration, credits it to poor pacing, stating, "His lead in Athens was at 15K which was far too fast too soon, given the inevitable tactical nature of the Athens course."

Whatever the reason, the remembered pain shows on Ramaala’s face. "It was a nightmare," he says. "You keep thinking, ‘It can’t be.’ You think you are winning, then you can’t stride. The leg starts to grab, you say, ‘Ugh.’ You try to stride normal. Then it comes again. You are hoping, working, praying that it will go away. I was running on one leg by the end."

After dropping out, he came back to win New York a few months later, yet Ramaala still showed up in Helsinki the next year feeling that he had something to prove. "I had good, good training," he recalls of the World Championships. "But the whole week of the race, I couldn’t sleep well.

"I stayed in the athletes’ village — bad decision. The marathon was the last weekend, and many people were done and free to party. In my suite there were sprinters from Senegal, Cuba, other places . . . they were all done. The night before the race they were up to 3 a.m., partying, banging doors . . ."

In the race, Ramaala went out with the leaders, running to win, but crashed at halfway, unable to respond when the pace quickened. He recalls, "The start was really fast — 30 minutes at 10K, and I was laboring. At 21K I was dizzy. At 30K I was looking for the truck."

Not one to make excuses, Ramaala says, "I don’t complain. I told myself I was strong, that I was not going to be affected. I tried to keep focus, and I did — but I was still affected. I was sweating from the first kilometer. In the marathon, if you are laboring at 10K, it is a bad day at the office."

Ramaala again dropped out, this time along with the other four representatives from South Africa, prompting responses like this from Dr. Lindsay Weight on the South African SuperAthletics website: "So, why did this lot, having accepted the privilege (and it is such, even now) to run in their country’s colours not do the honourable thing and at least finish? . . . Frankly I am sure we could find another four or five marathoners with 2:18 and better times who would have given their right arm and a lot more to a) run as a team, b) at the very worst finish the marathon to do honour to the vest." Others hinted that he has sold out to the big money marathons, and intentionally bails in contests with only patriotism on the line.

So Ramaala now looks toward Beijing as a chance to make amends — more for himself than to silence the critics. Armed with the confidence of both his New York win and his fast time in London, he believes he can get it right.

And then, after Beijing? "I’m keeping my options open," Ramaala says. "I’d like to continue in sports — there is a lot of potential here at home — maybe in adminstration or coaching. Maybe have my own club, or manage a team.

"South Africa is a new market, much is untapped — it’s a young country. In Europe, USA, everything has been done. I can’t do it now — I’m too busy now. But when I have time, there are so many things to do."

In the meantime, there are other matters to attend to — starting with a rematch against Tergat on the streets of New York this November.

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